


Johnlock Fluff Shorties

by RebMax12



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But some Mystrade too (hopefully), First Kiss, General fluff, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Mostly Johnlock, Romance, Short Stories, Teenlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebMax12/pseuds/RebMax12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hopefully a series of Johnlock fluff stories. Some short, some longer. Some Mystrade maybe too. x</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Music Projects and Snow Flurries

“For this next project I want you to pair up with someone. Twos please, no more” the voice of Mr Seago, Sherlock’s music teacher, floated though the murmuring classroom. “This is a memory exercise, you will be trying to remember and write down as much as you can about the life and musical techniques of Chopin and his set work we are studying ‘The Raindrop Prelude’. Off you go!”

  _Mr Seago certainly doesn’t enjoy the sound of his own voice_ thought Sherlock as he craned his neck peering round moving students in the hopes of seeing a familiar head of dark female hair, _but then again I shouldn’t really be surprised by the lack of help, I’ve had him as a teacher for the past two years now._

 Each student at St. Bart’s High School had to choose four subjects, alongside the cores of Maths, English and Science, to sit exams in at GCSE level. Sherlock had chosen purely academic subjects originally: History, Geography, French and German but his Learning Mentor, an insipid woman called Rebecca had strongly advised that he take an ‘arts subject’ and seeing as Sherlock played the violin he deemed music worthy of his time. That was his first mistake. Music was abysmal. He had to study 12 set works all in different areas and genres of music that were all useless. Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude being the only exception.

Sherlock looked around the room once more, praying mentally for Irene to come strutting through the door, relieving him of the humiliation of being the only person now without a partner.

“Can I work with you?” Sherlock looked up to see John Watson (John Watson!!!) hovering over his desk “Greg is working with Mike on this one and I don’t have a partner so…” he trailed off looking worriedly down at Sherlock as if dreading rejection.

Sherlock shook his head imperceptibly and shrugged “yes, yes, of course. Please…” he inclined his hand at the chair opposite him. John let out a breath and plonked himself down next to Sherlock dropping his exercise book and pencil case onto the desk and it was that precise moment that Irene decided to saunter through the open music room door. Sherlock tilted his head and gave her a stony look. She smirked at him but faltered when she saw John sitting beside Sherlock. She quirked an eyebrow at Sherlock and gave him a meaningful smile before joining Mary and her partner.

Mr Seago was going to blow a fuse.

He wasn’t the most easy-going of teachers and had an overriding cantankerous side but he was a good music teacher and knew what he was talking about, having played for the London Symphony Orchestra for many years before entering teaching.

“So” John said snapping Sherlock out of his reverie “Chopin and his blummin’ plinkety plonk Raindrop piece.” Sherlock was about to correct John (it was a _prelude_ thank you very much, an introductory piece of music most commonly heard in Operas that served as an introduction to the main body of the music which rendered it a very important movement of music) but the joking glint in John’s eye left Sherlock with no doubt that he was actually aware to what a prelude was used for.

 John was a few months older than Sherlock and played the drums, he also shared in Sherlock’s unbiased feelings towards their teacher -Mr Seago was, as far as students were concerned, teacher Marmite. You either loved him or you despised him. No middle ground. No Switzerland. Unless you counted Sherlock and John that is.

“Ok” Sherlock sighed “I’ll scribe. What can you remember about this not-so-abysmal piece?” John laughed before reciting a list of Romantic techniques. **Musical** techniques that is. Sherlock scribbled the techniques down adding a few more of his own that John had forgotten and by the end of the lesson they had quite a sizeable list of things they had managed to collectively remember. Sherlock would have perhaps been able to remember a tinsy bit more if John’s arm hadn’t been touching his own and the owner of said arm hadn’t kept leaning over Sherlock to make sure the brunette was writing down the correct terminology.

Mr Seago prowled to the front of the classroom before opening his black homework book and peering down at the class from above his glasses “since Christmas is coming-” “THE GOOSE IS GETTING FAT!” shouted someone from the back row, probably Mike who enjoyed nothing better than winding up Mr Seago. The teacher glared at the back row but continued “-I want you to complete an assignment for me. Please, turn to the person you have been working with today and say hello to your new partner for this next project. You will be working with them to create a Powerpoint of all the facts and techniques you have remembered today, plus anything you have forgotten from your revision guide!”

Sherlock tensed as he turned to face John who, to his relief, was smiling at him genuinely. “Looks like you’re stuck with me old chap” John teased. “How am I **ever** going to survive” quipped Sherlock turning his head as a small smile played around his mouth. “Mean!” came John’s reply, scowling in fake hurt. Sherlock’s smile grew until he caught Irene’s smug look from across the room, a look that implied far more than was _strictly_ necessary Sherlock felt.

The bell rang, loud and monotonous, and as every student’s chair scraped across the classroom floor Sherlock felt a small tug on his jumper sleeve. “We, er, we are going to need to meet up sometime, er, to do this project together, um, so if I was to give you my number…?” John flushed looking sheepishly at the brunette.

It took Sherlock a moment to catch on “Of course! Yes, yes here’s my phone” he said offering John a pristine Blackberry Bold “just type in your number”.

“Thanks” said John as he quickly typed in his number before handing the phone back “text me sometime so we can arrange a date.” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at the slightly flustered boy who was now wringing his grey beanie hat in his two hands. “Not...no, not like that!” John blustered a flush rising up his neck “I..I…”

Sherlock spared him the embarrassment by chuckling and assuring him he knew what he meant. John gave the brunette an almost grateful look before heading off to his next lesson, raising a hand in farewell as he walked out the door.

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**I’m surrounded by idiots… -SH**

 

Blink

Why? What’s happening?

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**We’re playing PASS THE PARCEL in Biology. Apparently it’s the last lesson before the Christmas holidays so we’re ‘just going to have fun’... –SH**

_Buzzzzzz_

**It’s not like we’ve got exams to revise for or anything. –SH**

 

Blink

You’re such a buzz kill. Relax, kick back, and embrace your inner child desperate to play party games…

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**I assume you’re making fun of me. –SH**

 

Blink

You assume correct. At least you’re not stuck in English watching Stand By Me with tearing up teenage girls clinging onto you every time something remotely sad happens! Count your blessings!

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**Consider them counted. -SH**

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**Which girls? -SH**

 

Blink

Why do you want to know?

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**No reason… -SH**

 

Blink

Jealous Sherlock? Mary from music, Molly Hooper from maths, Irene (although admittedly she’s not crying) and Greg Lestrade.

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**Jealous? Me? So much female attention!**

 

Blink

I know, Greg is practically in floods of tears. ;)

 

Sherlock sniggered receiving a glare from the girl sitting opposite him on their table.

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**Oh great! Now Ms is putting a ‘biology-related’ film on. -SH**

 

(pause)

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**I fail to see how Footloose is ‘biology related’… -SH**

 

John buried his head in his arm trying to smother a laugh. “Something amusing Mr Watson?” his English teacher’s acidic voice lashed out from behind her desk. John looked up in time to realise that one of the main characters had just died tragically. Oops.

 

Blink

I’ve gotta go. My teacher is glaring daggers at me. Txt you later

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**I look forward to it. –SH**

 

“So who were you texting?” Irene Adler asked sidling up to John at the end of the lesson “Sherlock?” John gave her a sidelong glance “How did you-” Irene waved a hand in the air “Oh please, no-one looks down at their crotch and smiles. Not that you haven’t got much to smile about” she finished with a pointed glance at John’s jeans. He laughed “I’m flattered Irene. Nice deductions by the way” he said trying, in vain, to stride past her.

“Why thank you!” she said keeping up with him “Seriously though, Sherlock?” John sighed. “I knew it!” she exclaimed grinning at the blonde “and for the record, he plays the violin…good with his hands” she winked at him as she sauntered off with a smirk. John shook his head and grinned, _she’s incorrigible_ he thought as he made his way to the entrance of the school, all intentions of heading home and continuing his conversation with Sherlock.

 

Blink

So when do you want to meet up?

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**Monday is convenient for me, if you’re free? -SH**

 

Blink

Monday it is. Where should we meet? We need somewhere with internet connection…

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**Speedy’s? It has free WiFi. -SH**

 

Blink

The coffee shop on Baker Street?

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**Obviously. -SH**

 

Blink

Are you asking me out for coffee Sherlock?

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**Meet you outside Speedy’s for half ten? -SH**

 

John chuckled under his breath when he realised Sherlock had purposefully dodged answering his question.

 

Blink

Sounds good to me. See you then?

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**It’s a date. -SH**

 

Blink

Ok Sherlock, it’s a date. ;)

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**No! I didn’t mean like that! -SH**

 

Blink

Hey, it’s fine. It’s all fine. I’m just too sexy and you can’t keep your hands off. I understand, I do, unfortunately there’s nothing I can do, it’s just how I am.

 

_Buzzzzzzz_

**I hate you. -SH**

 

Blink

I know you do Sherlock, I know you do.

See you 10:30 Mon outside Speedy’s.

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**See you then. -SH**

 

(pause)

 

_Buzzzzzz_

**I still hate you. -SH**

 

John laughed as he sent Sherlock a single winky face before placing his mobile on the bedside table. _Monday_ , he thought, _couldn’t come fast enough_.

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

 

The weekend crawled by like it was dragging a blue whale behind it but Monday inevitably came. The usually-despised day holding nothing but excitement and a rather large helping of nervousness for John, who was completely oblivious to that fact that his music partner was feeling exactly the same. The pair met outside of the café, both muffled by copious jumpers and adorned with scarves, hats and gloves. The weather had been gradually decreasing in temperature, but of late a cold snap had hit, with the general public waking up every morning to find a layer of tough frost clinging to their rooves and car windshields.

Sherlock and John opened the door to the coffee shop and were immediately engulfed in warmth and the smell of roasting coffee beans. John inhaled and sighed “just what we need” he stated walking over to the counter to order. Sherlock found them two armchairs in the corner of the room next to the dancing fire and placed his laptop on the coffee table. John returned with a caramel latte for himself and a black coffee with two sugars for Sherlock. “How did you…?” Sherlock’s question trailed off into the general babble of the café. John looked up “not the only one able to make deductions are you…” John smiled at a rather taken aback Sherlock “anyway, let’s get down to business.”

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

 

The two of them spent the next 3 hours snuggled up in Speedy’s working on their set task and when John finally complained that he couldn’t bare even another second looking at his music textbook and suggested another date, Sherlock was all too happy to oblige. After paying their bill the two boys headed for the door. As they left the café they realised that a light flurry of snow had started to fall, covering everything in a thin layer of twinkling light.

“I’m glad we did this Sherlock” John admitted digging his hands into his coat pockets. “Me too” replied Sherlock, stunning himself as he realised that he actually meant it, the words were not just formalities.

The pair looked at each other, the gaze lasting just long enough to make it awkward before John looked away laughing “we need to do this again sometime.”

“Well obviously, we haven’t finished the project” teased Sherlock.

“No, I mean, after the project” John replied seriously, eyes flitting to the floor in uncertainty before chancing a glance back at Sherlock who wore a confused expression. When he met John’s eyes Sherlock flushed and smiled down at his feet “I’d like that.” He took a tentative step closer to John who unconsciously shifted forward, leaning towards Sherlock, the action similar to that of the pull of two opposing magnets.

John held Sherlock’s gaze and for a moment and the air hung still, suspended, as if everything else had frozen in time. Just the two of them. Together. Alone. And it was only when Sherlock took yet another step forward that John could see the pupils of his eyes blowing wide.

It was all the encouragement John needed.

He stepped forward, closing the gap between him and Sherlock in one long stride and brought the brunettes lips down to meet his. Sherlock gasped in surprise but the gasp quickly turned into a low shiver-inducing groan. He gripped John by his coat collar and pulled him in closer, deepening the kiss until he felt light-headed. John moved a hand to Sherlock’s hair, gripping the curls with enough force to elicit another moan but not enough to hurt as he kissed Sherlock with increasing intensity. The feel of the brunette’s cold lips against his was exhilarating, Sherlock tasted like coffee with a sweet undertone which could be from the sugar or could be something entirely Sherlock. John didn’t know and quite frankly, John didn’t care. He guided Sherlock backwards until his body was against the wall next to the café, the solidity of the brickwork giving him enough leverage to wrap himself further against Sherlock’s body. What little of John’s conscious thought remained was confused; _I thought everyone said he was a novice, never done this before_? Rumours told of Sherlock being a ‘snogging virgin’ but that clearly wasn’t the case as the last part of John’s mind shattered completely when Sherlock bit lightly on his lower lip.

 

“Why don’t you two get a room!” shouted a female voice from across the street effectively breaking the two apart. John turned in order to see Irene and Mary laughing at them good-naturedly from across the street “we were just about to go and get a late lunch, you guys wanna come?” inquired Mary “or you can go back to chewing each other’s faces off, you know, whatever you want?” teased Irene.

John felt Sherlock laugh as he turned back to him “what do you think?” he asked the brunette, eyes roving over Sherlock’s mussed hair, red lips and rumpled clothes. “I think my boyfriend and I should probably grab a bite to eat before he comes back to my house to continue what we were doing UNINTERRUPTED” Sherlock crescendo-ed loud enough for Irene and Mary to hear.

The two girls just shrugged and beckoned for Sherlock and John to follow them, John beaming at Sherlock before grabbing his hand. “Boyfriend huh?” he teased. “Well you DID just throw me up against a wall and make out with me” Sherlock teased back. John replied, a huge grin across his face, “Yeah, I guess I did…”

 

 


	2. The trick before the treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes his two younger cousins trick-or-treating and accidentally stumbles across the Holmes mansion.

“Mr Watson, since you are insisting on gazing out of the window and not paying attention to my lesson, why don’t you tell the class Othello’s first words in the play?” John’s A Level English Lit teacher scowled down at him nastily, a look of victory spread across her features.

_Crap!_ Thought John miserably _I wasn’t paying attention for most of the lesson, she hates me, and now I’m going to look like an imbecile not knowing the right answer. What am I going to do?_

However, John was saved any more brain-wracking when he noticed a flash of white in his peripheral vision. He looked across to the desk next to him in order to find a ripped piece of paper with the words **‘Tis better as it is. Let him do his spite: my services which have done the signiory shall out-tongue his complaints’** scrawled across it in sloping, cursive script. John looked up to find the one and only Sherlock Holmes regarding him from out of the corner of his eye. John turned back to the teacher who luckily had her back to the board and had not seen what had passed between the two students. ‘Tis better as it is’ John said, quoting from the scrap of paper Sherlock had written on ‘Let him do his spite: my services which have done the signiory shall out-tongue his complaints’. He finished with a slight smile spreading across his features. Sherlock coughed in what appeared to be an attempt to maintain a straight face. The teacher turned back to John ‘glad to see you’ve been paying attention’ she said acerbically ‘next time please show it by looking at the board and not out of the window.’

She turned back to the whiteboard and continued writing. The paper fluttered again **You’re welcome by the way.** John huffed a laugh as a small smile flicked across the half of Sherlock’s face that he could see. “And Mr Watson!” came the teachers deadly voice “since you find it SO amusing, could you also tell the class Othello’s last words, being the expert on the play of course…” She glared daggers at John as if challenging him to answer correctly. Thankfully the piece of paper fluttered once more “O happy dagger!” John read from it “This is thy sheath; there rust and let me die.”

As he finished the whole classroom burst into laughter and if looks could kill, the look his teacher gave him would have incinerated him. “THOSE” she spat “were JULIET’S last words. I trust that I don’t have to explain the difference between the two characters to you?” John smiled from chagrin “I’m sorry miss, I will remember that for the future.” The teacher whipped around and stormed back to the board “the ACTUAL last words of Othello were ‘and smote him thus’. The scrap of paper fluttered once more **oops.** John shook his head, grinning at Sherlock from the corner of his eye.

In what seemed like no time at all, the bell rang signalling the end of the school and during the last 20 minutes of class John had all but decided to confront Sherlock and actually have a proper conversation with the gorgeous, black-haired boy whom he had been watching from a far for quite some time now. However, John it seemed, was out of luck, his humiliated English Teacher marched straight over to him and aimed a bony finger at his chest. The following telling off was all but lost on John as he watched Sherlock weave his way out of class and into the Halloween Half-Term holiday. _Damn!_ Thought John as his teacher continued to rant _Now I won’t see him for another 10 days!_ What John didn’t realise was that that wasn’t exactly true….

                                                                                        >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Come on! Hurry up! We’re going to be late!” Ben and Caleb, John’s two young cousins, screeched as John tramped down the stairs after them. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” he replied genially as he followed them into the kitchen to pick up bags to collect sweets in.

John followed his two seven year old cousins down the car-less street until they reached the end of the road. “Come on you two, we’ve been to all the houses along here!” called John as two young faces turned back to him with identical pouts “let’s turn around and head the other way”. “What about down here?!?” cried Caleb pointing to a dirt track that ran off to the left of the main street. “That just goes to the houses out on the edges of the village” explained John “lots of old people. Not much good candy.” Caleb looked back at him with a dangerous twinkle in his eye, he turned back to his brother “still…more people means more candy…RACE YA!” he screeched at Ben and took off running, his brother grumbling but following all the same. John sighed exasperatedly but jogged after them; his mum would kill him if he lost the only cousins he had.

Before long John had caught them up, panting slightly as he came to a halt beside them. They had stopped in front of a pair of black wrought iron gates leading up to a towering Victorian-era house. And what a house it was! _Whoever lives here must be minted_ thought John and apparently his cousin had telepathy because Ben cried out in excitement “Whoa! They are going to have some SERIOUS candy. I bet they have mountains of it!” “They can certainly afford it” chipped in Caleb. John gave the boy a curious look, Caleb merely shrugged his shoulders offhandedly.

The gate swung open with a groan, clearly on some sort of timer and without another word said, the two boys sprinted down the winding driveway toward the mansion, John hot on their heels. When they reached the door both younger boys turned to stare at John “well?” Ben asked impetuously “are you going to knock?”. John gave an exasperated snort before obliging. For a long moment all was silent and then the door slowly creaked open to reveal a hunched figure lurking in the shadows. “Who dares come here?!” came a scathing voice from the shadowy figure “are they brave or simply foolish?” the voice pondered, quite obviously talking to itself. “Trick or treat?” replied Caleb unsure of how to respond to this creepy silhouette. “Trick or treat eh?” replied the voice “well, you two are brave aren’t you” the voice was almost sneering in its response “care to come in? Or are you too afraid?” The two younger boys squared their shoulders and walked through the door into a spectacularly high-ceilinged hallway.

“Well, well, brave after all” the voice mused again to itself “what should we do with them now I wonder? Hmmmm…how about I tell you a story.” The voice dropped to a whisper on the last words, the syllables taking on a fantastically menacing tone not befitting of the words it was saying. All of a sudden a candle flared into existence illuminating the shadowy figure in wavering uncertain light. The figure was male, around the age of 50 with costume-spray dyed black hair and a black cape hanging from around his neck. The underside of the cape was blood red satin and when he gesticulated the cape moved enough to see that he was in full Dracula regalia; pointed old-fashioned shoes, neck ruff and all. The man walked with a put-on stoop as he set the candle down on an expensive looking table.

“Have you ever heard of the bogey man?” came the man’s soft, lilting and somehow oddly familiar voice. Ben and Caleb shook their heads in unison. “Ah!” replied the man “good! Then, how I shall enjoy scaring you from your wits!” John smiled slightly at the display; people around here really did make an effort. The man proceeded to tell the story of the bogey-man who came around at night on Hallows eve and dragged children from their beds before devouring them and hiding their bones in the forest. John had to admit, he was getting quite into it, so when the door that led off into the rest of the house was flung open and a ragged, masked figure hurtled from the room screaming like a banshee, John’s cousins weren’t the only ones that ran out the house for dear life.

The trio turned in time to see Dracula shaking with laughter and calling after them to come back and collect their candy. John’s heart rate had slowed enough to allow embarrassment-fuelled chagrin to roll through him in waves. When the group returned to the door, the man opened the door to reveal a slim figure cloaked in black torn rags wearing a black mask made from bandages who was also shaking with laughter. He removed his head piece and John’s stomach hit the floor. In fact, scratch that, his stomach hit the floor and began tunnelling all the way to the centre of the earth- he was that embarrassed.

A grinning Sherlock stared back at him, eyes brimming over with mirth. “W-w-what?!” stammered John “Sherlock?!?!” John looked back the Dracula figure who must’ve been Sherlock’s father, now retreating back into the house with Ben and Caleb in tow, the twins going to claim their prize for being scarred out of their wits. Sherlock walked up to John, smile still tugging at his features holding out a scrap of paper. ‘In case the bogey man shows up tonight, here’s my number’ Sherlock’s deep baritone rumbled. John took the paper, meeting Sherlock’s intense gaze evenly. Eventually the pair had to look away as John’s cousins came bowling out of the mansion, bags bulging with sweets. “Thank you!” chorused the twins as they walked back down the long drive arguing about which sweets were the best and who got what. John made to walk away but turned back retrieving a similar piece of paper from his jean pocket ‘Trick or Treat’ he quipped handing Sherlock the note.

John jogged away after his cousins as Sherlock opened the paper and saw a mobile number scrawled across the scrap in John’s handwriting. Sherlock smiled to himself, he may have heard John’s voice when he had walked into the hall and been able to quickly scrawl his number on a slip of paper to give to him, but John must’ve been hoping to see him tonight, hoping to pass on his number. Sherlock smiled at the thought as he walked back through the hallway completely forgetting about his dad who jumped out from behind the door and nearly gave him a heart attack. “ahhhh….” His dad sighed knowingly “young love…” He shuffled off in the direction of the kitchen leaving behind a speechless, yet still somewhat moony-eyed Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to portray Sherlock's parents a little differently- they usually come across as stoic, snobby and usually are absent for a great deal of the time so I really wanted to show them as normal, fun-loving, accepting parents who have a great relationship with Sherlock. I hope you guys liked it! Sorry it's so late! It's been swilling around for a while but I never had opportunity to finish it. Please comment and let me know what you think! x


	3. Let's get out of here, shall we?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this one, you don't get a chapter summary; too many spoilers! But bear with me, the ending might just be your cup of tea ;) Enjoy! x  
> All I will say is that 'braining' is, in my books, Geordie slang to whack your head off something (usually to head butt someone) and although Urban dictionary has a different meaning, this is what I was getting at. Sorry for any confusion!

How in Hades had he gotten here? Legs tied together, gagged and handcuffed to a four-poster bed. Completely compromised, his clothes half-hanging off, hoping against hope that his partner would reappear any moment, a smirk plastered across face and witty remark on his lips. He was aching, bruises starting to flourish along his jawline and neck, hair sticking up in tufts like a demented hedgehog and gasping for air. He couldn’t breathe, his heart running a marathon in his chest, his mind completely scrambled, screaming for release from this torture, screaming for Sherlock. Wait…what? WHAT?!?! NO!!! No, no, no! Of course he wasn’t tied to a bed WILLINGLY! He wasn’t doing…he wasn’t doing THAT with Sherlock! This isn’t Fifty Shades of Grey! Although, he thought, that would’ve been a more desirable end to the evening instead of being kidnapped, dragged to God-knows-where, beaten, strangled, tied up and left to die. Not exactly the happenings of your typical nineteen-year-olds Saturday evening…the kidnapping and beating that is, the other stuff, well, let’s leave that there.

However, this just so happened to be the end product of going undercover to try and infiltrate a smuggling ring Sherlock was trying to collect information on; something to do with a body that had turned up yesterday on the banks of the Thames, someone connected to an incredibly illusive gang known as Scorpio, a gang Sherlock had somehow known about. He growled low under his breath, if by no small miracle he managed to get out of this hell hole, he’d strangle that man. Wrap his sexy midnight blue scarf around his gorgeous neck. _You volunteered_ muttered a small voice inside his head _you only have your feelings to blame. He asked and you agreed like the besotted fool you are, and what for? To die in some…some…_ he looked around suspiciously, just where was he exactly?

The room was dark and had obviously not been used for some time judging by the creeping chill and cloying smell of damp. Stonewalls pressed into the lavishly furnished room and a thick layer of dust covered every surface, boot marks and scrapes from his scuffle the only signs of disturbance. A solid expensive-looking chest of draws stood against the far wall, it appeared to be made out of mahogany or some other tropical wood that Sherlock would recognise instantly, having written an extensive dissertation on the topic of different lignin. It was on his blog. And John, having read said blog, would know. His stupid, weak, pining heart overriding his perfectly reasonable mind on anything concerning the blue-eyed, British sex bomb that was Sherlock Holmes. And where was he anyway? He was supposed to swoop in, save the day, ruffle his hair and turn his coat collar up, sweeping John along with him to his next adventure fraught with danger. _But what happens_ said that same niggling voice in the back of his mind _if he doesn’t show up…_

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

For the next twenty minutes John contemplated which method would be less futile: shouting for help only for his kidnappers to gag him or worse, trying to pick the locks on the handcuffs to find the only solution to getting rid of them would be to chew his hands off, or braining himself on the bedside table in the hopes that his kidnappers needed him alive and would burst into the room to caringly stop him from giving himself brain damage. None of the options looked too appealing if he was honest, and he was just about to lose face when a sardonic voice wafted through his stream of thoughts. **Well if you’re just going to give up, I wouldn’t have even bothered sending you…** _Oh yeah? so it’s my fault he replied mentally like I could foresee this happening! Ya know, it’s not the most fun end to my evening that I could imagine, being tied up in a dark room, my hands bound behind my back with no-one to hear my screams…_ **…….Get out of this mess and I’ll show you the fun side to all that.** John could practically see him winking, devilish grin stretching across alabaster cheeks. Damn! He knew John was competitive, and oh how he hated losing to the detective.

_Well that settles it then; I’ll just have to get myself outta here…_ but how…? John quickly scanned the chamber, his eyes alighting on the neck of a brass candlestick peeking out from an open antique trunk in the corner of the room. The handcuffs were restrictive but if he could juuusssttttt nudge the chest with his foot he might be able to drag it closer to him…at least, that was the plan. He stretched out a leg, ratty black converse just brushing against the leather side of the chest. Gritting his teeth he stretched even further, straining against the handcuffs as he found purchase against the trunk’s front, looping his toe underneath the worn brass handles and gently pulling the entire thing towards himself. John grunted, the trunk was heavier than it looked and made a conspicuous grating sound as it slid across the floor; he was going to have to hurry. Once the trunk was within an easy opening distance he flipped the lid up with the toe of a trainer and proceeded to try and pick up the candelabra using both feet as a pincer. Images of Sherlock practising his ballet in the University’s theatre came flooding, unbidden, into his mind. Damn it! Now was NOT THE TIME to be distracted by the way Sherlock looked in those RIDICULOUS TIGHTS! Hang on a second, but what about that ‘Brisé’ movement that Sherlock had been practicing? The one where he jumped in mid-air and brought his legs together in a scissoring motion? What if John applied something like that in this situation? Now, John had never been graceful, in fact, John had become even more stocky during the years of playing Rugby so it was no small surprise that he couldn’t mimic the graceful lines of a trained Ballerina and it came as an even bigger surprise that the scissoring motion caused the candle stick to arc through the air and land on the bed next to him within reaching distance. He couldn’t have done it twice if his life depended on it. He grinned to himself, sure to big up his ballet technique when recounting the tale to Sherlock lest he never get out of his confines.

John shifted his weight on the bed, old springs creaking slightly as he moved and repositioned himself with his hands closer to the brass candleholder. With a great deal of squirming and not a small amount of cursing he managed to wriggle the candelabra in between his two cuffed hands. Sweat beading on his forehead, John guided the metal between the two handcuffs, underneath the metal chain that secured the two together and wrapped around the old metal headboard. All of a sudden there was a commotion downstairs and voices shouted up through the floorboards. His stomach sunk with grim certainty, his captors had heard the commotion and were coming to get him… 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

**Are you going to get on with it or are you going to just sit there paralysed with fear?** The voice was back and more condescending than ever “two minutes, Sherlock just two minutes” John exhaled the words under his breath as he tried to calm his racing nerves. The voices were growing in pitch and the unmistakable sound of footsteps hitting marble stairs could be heard from below. **BORING. So THIS is what it’s like in your funny little brains. Don’t be boring John, you know I despise boring** the voice practically whined. John snapped back to his senses and using the candlestick as a lever began applying pressure to the chain between the two handcuffs. The assaulting sound of metal against metal grated through the air as the chain came under tension. John used all his weight and what gravity he could utilise against the metal leaning as far away from the headboard as possible when suddenly PING! The chain snapped sending John toppling to the floor with a graceless thud.

Without warning the door swung open to reveal the dark, Belstaff-cloaked figure of the world’s most famous, uncannily perceptive, undeniably intelligent, pain-in-the-arse, who had the specific tendency to show up a good two hours late. The detective swooped into the room with the air of a self-sacrificing martyr, coat collar fully flipped up and zygomatic bones that should be illegal, casting alluring shadows across his pale face. He turned his head to regard John lying in a heap on the floor, shirt torn and a pair of snapped handcuffs hanging off his wrists “Should I come back later?” the brunette asked smirking down at the dishevelled figure on the ground. **“YOU. ARE. LATE”** came John’s irritated reply as he pushed himself up from the floor.

Once in a standing position he turned to see the detective staring down at his ripped flannel shirt. When he caught Sherlock’s eye, the other boy whipped his head away, a steady flush creeping up his neck into his hairline. John chuckled and slipped the shirt from his shoulders mentally thanking whatever angel was looking over him right now that he had had the good fortune to put a clinging, sleeveless, white vest top on underneath. The detective turned his head back towards John, a confused look flitting across his features. John grinned at him smugly, fully aware that his years of playing rugby had given him, shall we say, a certain ‘photoshopped’ physique and right now it seemed to be having an effect on one consulting detective. 

Still smirking John made to leave through the door Sherlock held ajar but before he could make it onto the landing the brunette had his hands fisted in the material of John’s vest and was pinning him tightly against the wall. John’s cry of surprise was quickly muffled as Sherlock brought his lips crashing down onto John’s, a desperate, passion-fuelled, insanely lust-driven kiss that had both parties gasping. Teeth clashed with lips and tongue as John positively fought back against Sherlock’s mouth, wrapping a strong, muscled arm around the back of the detective and pulling him in tighter until every inch of Sherlock’s front was pressed to every inch of John’s. Sherlock moaned low against John’s mouth as the blonde’s arm dipped lower down his back. After what seemed like forever, but what was in reality merely seconds, Sherlock pulled away, frustration evident in the hunch of his back and the crease of his brow. He leaned in towards John who closed his eyes expecting to be snogged senseless once again (after all, he wasn’t complaining) but Sherlock placed his lips to the other boy’s ear, words rumbling seductively in his deep baritone voice- a voice that epitomised the sweet dripping of honey, the purring of a panther, the resonance of a cello…..a voice of pure, unadulterated sex. John’s eyes flew wide open, his pupils darkening and irises dilating as he took in the meaning of the murmur. Sherlock locked his gaze on the other boy “Let’s get out of here, shall we?” It was all John could do to nod. Looks like this evening would be going to planned after all he thought smugly……..and all that niggling voice in the back of his mind had to say was, _‘You might be needing those handcuffs.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Please leave a comment below and let me know the good, the bad and the ugly! The stuff you liked, the stuff you didn't like, the stuff you want to see more of, the stuff you never want to read again (no offense to any writers but some of the stuff out there can be a little on the mentally scarring side, I know this from experience), it all helps! Thanks for reading guys, you've all made my day x


	4. Kiss Me by Six Pence None The Richer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I want to say is I hope you enjoy it! It's been a while since I last uploaded a chapter and I'm nearly on 1000 hits (which is a biggy for me) so thank you all so much for reading and I just want to say you guys are awesome, you make my day. Hope you like this next chapter...enjoy! x

It wasn’t as if he’d seen him for the first time when he was on his way home in his family’s chauffeur-driven car, the late summer sunlight reaching its glorious rays through the glass of the car window onto his upturned face as Smooth radio blasted ‘Kiss Me’ by Six Pence Non The Richer.

It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d laid eyes upon this glorious stranger because the only people he had contact with were his perpetually absent parents and his brother who was not given to bouts of brotherly compassion.

A shrink could perhaps blame the rebelliousness of his proceeding actions upon his lack of parental figure or something equally rubbish had he had the time to pay her the slightest bit of attention.

It wasn’t as if he lay on his bed, arms crossed behind his head for hours after the incident pondering its implications and grinning to himself like a loon every time he thought upon the way the evening sun illuminated the lighter strands of the blonde boy’s hair.

 Of course not; that’s way too cliché, all that David Copperfield kinda crap. And we’ve read Catcher In The Rye, and we all know how that one ends.

 

And yet, the first time eighteen-year-old Sherlock Holmes laid his eyes upon twenty-year-old John Watson the scenario pretty much played out as above. Sherlock was returning alone from what had been yet another tedious convention of his father’s, which had wound down into yet another sedate meal and was fortunately wearing one of his most expensive suits when drop-dead-gorgeous-big-blue-eyed John Watson looked him over.

 

John was in amongst a group of his fellow rugby team members and as the car made to drive past he turned his head and in doing so caught Sherlock’s eye…and kept staring. He nudged one of his mates and continued to gaze after Sherlock as the car pulled past, mouth hanging open slightly. The boy closest to John gave him a friendly shove which he returned before getting his now-madly-grinning friend into a headlock. Sherlock allowed himself a small smirk before signalling to the driver to pull over and change the channel to something a little more modern…ok, a lot more modern.

 

The gaggle of boys faltered slightly seeing the sleek black vehicle glide smoothly onto the curb, but it wasn’t long before one of the taller boys gave John a shove forward and said something to him that caused the blonde to flush crimson. _Well damn. That’s endearing._ thought Sherlock as a now slightly pink John strolled up to the open window of the car. John stopped in front of Sherlock’s window and bent at the waist slightly to get a better look at the brunette inside the dark vehicle. Sherlock smirked and allowed himself to briefly enjoy the sight of taut stomach muscles evident underneath the fabric of John’s tshirt thanks to the slightly sagging neckline.

  _Focus Sherlock_ cautioned the voice. You know the voice; that little niggling voice inside your head that steadily feeds you a stream of doubt and anxiety at the most inopportune moments, the voice that tells you _maybe you can’t, maybe you shouldn’t, what if… But DAMN that voice._ Sherlock thought in a burst of anger. _Damn that voice and damn the consequences_. Sherlock had always been the rebellious one, the one his Aunt looked down at disparagingly while openly voicing her opinions to his mother “He’s too rowdy, Violet! Too defiant! Practically uncontrollable and wayward ta boot! He was always set to be the trouble child I tell you! Myc was always the good one! Good child that boy and clever too! His brother could learn a lot from him. You wouldn’t see Myc getting up to any of this business!” and so forth.

 Needless to say as Sherlock got older he began to live up to his ‘rebellious’ title. After buying and customising a Kawasaki Z1000 bike, donning bikers leathers and picking up a penchant for smoking cigarettes and downing alcohol, Sherlock’s parents decided to leave well alone. If their son wanted to act like James Dean then all they could do was make sure he wasn’t associated with them.

 They weren’t horrible people in all fairness, just people of a certain status who wished to remain that way, the kind of people who knew that they had to instigate themselves within high society and occupy high positions within said society.

 

_Well they can get on with it_ thought Sherlock as he pulled himself round to the present moment. Sherlock smirked as he pressed the button to scroll down the window, the dark tinted glass giving way to the sight of lively deep blue eyes.

 John smirked down at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow “Can I help you mister?” he replied, cool charm and friendly teasing evident in his voice “You looking for something?” he queried. Sherlock looked him dead in the eye and without faltering replied “I am actually…you” and without warning the brunette slipped half his lean frame out of the open window, grabbed John by the back of the neck and kissed him passionately on the lips.

 The kiss lasted only a minute or so before the stunned driver regained his wits and rather annoyingly put his foot down on the gas pedal tearing Sherlock’s lips away from John’s as he sped down the road, brunette still hanging half out the window. Sherlock looked back at John who was staring incredulously after the car. He laughed and winked back at the blonde before slipping back into the passenger seat.

 

_Screw the driver_ Sherlock thought as they flew round a bend in the road _that was a damn hot kiss_. He put his fingers up to his lips, the memory of the kiss lingering around his widening smile.

 

Within minutes the chauffeur was pulling the car up the long driveway to the Holmes mansion and he did not look pleased. Sherlock spared him a glare before making to get out of the car but the chauffeur beat him to it slamming the door shut again and penning Sherlock in. “WHAT THE HELL?!?!” the now livid driver raged “WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! I COULD BE FIRED HAD WE BEEN SEEN BUT NO! ALL YOU THINK ABOUT IS BEING REBELLIOUS AND DISOBEYING YOUR PARENTS!!! I AM DONE! I AM THROUGH WITH THIS! YOU PUT MY JOB ON THE LINE TIME AND TIME AGAIN WITH NO THOUGHT OF ME OR MY SITUATON YOU SELFISH…BOY!” Sherlock looked at the driver incredulously as he continued to rant “WHAT ARE YOU HOPING TO ACHIEVE?! HAS THIS ALL GOT A POINT OR ARE YOU JUST DOING IT FOR FUN. YOUR’E SEVENTEEN FOR GOD’S SAKE AND YOU’RE ALREADY A MESS.” Fire flared in Sherlock’s eyes as he listened to the man tirade in icy silence “YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR PARENTS ARE LIKE. STRAIGHT UP, TRADITIONAL, OLD FASHIONED, RESPECTABLE PEOPLE. WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO WHEN THEY FIND OUT ABOUT YOUR LASTEST HIGH HEH?! THEY WANT YOU TO FIND A GIRLFRIEND SO YOU GO AROUND KISSING RANDOM STRANGE BOYS LIKE A…LIKE A…LIKE A PANSY! IT’LL BREAK THEIR HEARTS AND DISGUST THEM TA BOOT! REPULSIVE, VILE ACTIONS OF A BORED TEENAGER LOOKING FOR THE NEXT FLING!”

 It was at that moment that Sherlock snapped. Wrenching open the car door he flung himself from the vehicle and stormed to the front door of the house “FINE! JUST RUN AWAY FROM YOUR PROBLEMS! YOU USELESS COWARD!”

 Sherlock froze.

Shoulders raised he turned on his heels and ran back towards the now standing driver. Then fist collided with face as Sherlock punched the driver square in the jaw. The driver reeled, regained balance and barrelled into Sherlock’s chest, catching him around the waist and slamming him to the floor. The driver dodged Sherlock’s blows as he rained his own down upon the brunette catching him in the face and stomach. Sherlock grappled with the larger man for what seemed like an eternity before he managed to catch his wrists and prevent any further damage.

 The driver was still straddling Sherlock, panting hard but visibly calming down. Sherlock looked up at him haughtily “don’t you EVER say those things to me again” he spat, voice acerbic. The driver huffed at him in disgust before untangling himself from the teen and standing upright “find someone else to drive you boy” he said, voice laced with loathing and repulsion “because you sure as hell don’t do me any favour so I’m damn well not doing you any”.

 The driver turned on his heel and opened the car door “get out of here you homo” he said with a sneer as he flopped back into the car. Sherlock watched from where he was lying as the sleek black car pulled out of the drive and tore off down the road. “Sherlock?” came a tentative voice from the doorway. Sherlock scrambled to his feet and practically ran into the house “not now Mrs Hudson!” he shouted at the anxious-looking housemaid.

 

“Sherlock!” she cried after him as he raced up the stairs and into his room slamming the door behind him “Sherlock!” _He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t care. Words meant nothing, he didn’t care._ _DAMN THEM ALL TO HELL AND BACK_ he raged silently _they’d never understand_. _Damn them all, damn the world! They’d never UNDERSTAND!_ The built up anger was so great that Sherlock was only vaguely aware of what happened next. It wasn’t until Sherlock’s hand and fist were dripping blood and a smashed window pane was letting the cold night air enter his room that Sherlock realised he’d punched a sizeable hole in his bedroom window.

 

Mrs Hudson was going to blow her top. “SHERLOCK!” _Speak of the devil._ “WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU DOING?! LET ME IN THIS INSTANT!” Sherlock crossed the room and unlocked the door, cracking it open slightly to reveal his pale housemaid. Mrs Hudson took one look at the window and one look at Sherlock’s face and hand before crossing the room and taking the shaking teen into a vice-like hug. She felt Sherlock slump against her as she continued to hang on to this impertinent, confused, angry boy.

 

After a while she set him down on his bed, “I’m going to phone for an ambulance” she stated. “NO!” Sherlock made a grab for her wrist as she turned to leave, rotating her back to face him “I’ll take my bike, it’ll be faster.” She stared at him incredulously “but your hand!” she protested.

“I’ve driven with one hand before. I’m good enough and confident enough to do so now and I just need to get away” he explained voice cracking towards the end. She nodded, she knew when it was futile to argue and she was confident enough in his driving skills to let him do so. He drove like the devil but he was good at it.

 “Ok then. And I’m guessing that getting a chauffeur to bring you home is a no go?” she asked, kindly eyes crinkling, conveying her meaning. Sherlock looked up at her and smiled a half smile, eyes softening somewhat “not for the moment if you don’t mind.”

 

She nodded once more and exited the room only to return with bandages and tape. She patched up Sherlock’s hand as best she could before sending him on his way. “Be careful” she shouted as he donned his helmet and slung a lean leg over his bike. He nodded at her and kicked the stand up on his bike before revving it and speeding off down the driveway.

 

Twenty minutes later and he was at the hospital, Plainsborough General, and leaning against the reception desk explaining his predicament to a pretty red-haired receptionist. “Have a seat” she said gesturing to the waiting room “a doctor will be with you shortly”. “Much obliged” he replied with a wink making her blush. _It’s not like I can’t have a little fun after all_ he _thought just because I’m not that way inclined._

 

After a brief wait an older nurse came to collect him and sat him down in one of the empty rooms on the ward. “Mr Holmes…” a male voice floated in from around the corner “I hear you’ve lacerations from punching a hole in your bedroom windo…” the doctor stopped walking abruptly in shock, staring at Sherlock with a look of amazement.

 

Sherlock looked up only to meet the eyes of blonde-haired-big-blue-eyed Doctor Watson, the subject with which he had locked lips not hours earlier. Both men stared at each other in amazement before John broke the silence “Well I’ll be damned” he whispered under his breath. Shaking his head as if to refocus he extended both a hand and a smile “John Watson, nice to meet you.” Sherlock took his hand in his own good one and shook “Sherlock Holmes” he replied in kind “although I think the handshaking is a bit out of order, we did make out a couple of hours ago.”

John laughed, the sound like molten gold and much to his surprise Sherlock found himself laughing too. “Well Sherlock, I’m sorry to say but patient confidentiality and privacy means that I can’t take you out later for a drink later after my voluntary shift finishes” John said once the mirth had subsided.

Sherlock thought for a moment before replying “some rules are made to be broken. I think this is one of those times.” John laughed again before nodding “I do believe you’re right. So that settles it, drinks on me.”

Sherlock looked up at the blonde from underneath dark, predatory eyes “on you, eh? Sounds damn good to me.” The blonde tutted trying to smother a grin “I’m WORKING Sherlock! Work hard, play hard? The play bit comes after the work.” Sherlock sagged, frowning slightly.

“However…I’ll make the wait worth your time” the blonde added looking Sherlock dead in the eye and winking “now let’s take a look at this hand…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Please leave a comment below and tell me the stuff you like, the stuff you don't like and what you want to see more of. Thanks guys x

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment below and let me know if you have any ideas/prompts or advice! Thanks guys x


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